The Flat
by AnnikaTwist
Summary: The much needed breath of ease exhaled between more angst-ridden stories, of course will have loads of snogging etc. Just read guys. Slash draco/harry


The Flat 

The Flat   
Disclaimer: Right. I own nothing. Except of course the plot. And the random characterizations. And the slash that will come later on*wicked grin* Everything else belongs to JKR. Author's Little Irritating Note: But seriously, this time it's actually important! Ok, everyone do not freak out. Repeat: DO NOT FREAK OUT. Just because I keep posting other stuff DOES NOT imply that I am in any way finished with Infatuation. And I know I've said it's already written but I am going to be painfully honest with you, I wrote the original ch. 6 more than a year ago and as it stands at the moment (well the old part) is crap. This next chapter is exceedingly important (well they all are of course but..) and I am killing myself over this thing but just know that it is coming soon! Besides, I needed a break from all that angst. This, folks is what we might call an author's needed comic relief. I got the idea for this over the summer and hopefully it should very slashy and uh.. you know not so melodramatic and all. You guys'll love it, I promise *blinks prettily with sincere doe eyes*. AHEM, you can read this in between the more gut-wrenching chapters of all my serious romance stuff to sort of ease the tension, if you will, but anyway on with the story!! Slash kids, it's allllll slash. 

Chapter One Draco Malfory was royally pissed off. In fact no. *Royally* pissed off hardly began to describe the seething, festering bubble of anger that rose swollen and blistering in his chest. He was bleeding his eyes out, guts all over the floor, spit on the altar, nuts on the block, head in a vice, kick your mother in the fucking face pissed off. The situation, to say the least, was rather ugly. Graduation was supposed to be an exuberant time, a time radiant and glistening with dreams, crowned with a halo of undiscovered prospects. A time glowing with independence, and vibrant with the possibilities of the virgin years to come. For Draco however, all of this was not true. All his hopes and dreams had come shattering to the earth only moments after he had received his diploma. He had been standing, beaming, in his freshly pressed graduation robes, being jostled by his fellow students and their chattering parents after the ceremony. He stood sipping punch, watching his parents mingling with other parents, nodding coldly as they filtered around with contrived smiles on their faces, shaking hands. He was eager to leave, to shed his robes and get home and pack. His family was to be spending their summer in their chateau in the south of France along with several other pure blood families along the Mediterranean. He was looking forward to spending long and leisurely hours on the beach, coasting the clubs at night for girls and generally just relaxing after the last few, taxing months at Hogwarts from test after mind numbing test. He knew he deserved it as well. He may have started studying a little late for his N.E.W.T.s but once he knuckled down, he'd worked his ass off and made off with rather good marks, much to his own surprise. He'd never admit that of course. But on the whole, he was rather pleased. He smirked to himself, as he glanced around at the other graduates, all slightly flushed with the importance of the moment, twittering excitedly to one another. He didn't envy them in the slightest. They all had to decide exactly which field they were going into right away, because, let's face it, Draco mused, they hadn't a leg to stand on now they're out of school. They'd all be scrambling to get jobs this summer, scraping together money and pools of other equally needy classmates to share broken down flats with. Most parents shipped their children off the second they'd doffed their graduation robes. *Thank Salazar that's not how *my* family does things.* Said family was in fact now, coming towards him; his mother wearing her usual tight lipped, terse expression as if all her nerves were strung through her Givanci pearl necklace, his father, as always, looking grim. Draco tossed his empty plastic cup into a basket and smiled at them winningly. "Ready to go then?" His father nodded tightly, and swept off ahead of Draco, with a motion for his son to fall into step behind him. Draco's smile fell. Honestly, he knew his parents were an emotionless bunch, but you'd think he'd at least get a 'congratulations' from them, this being his *graduation* day and all. He scoffed to himself, because there was no one else around to do so to, and jogged off after his parents, ignoring Crabbe's throaty call of 'goodbye' aimed at his back, and didn't turn around for one last glance at the castle on the hill. They took their coach home, as it was unheard of to apparate to formal occasions. They lurched home in tense silence, his mother staring vacantly out the window, his father gazing crossly ahead. Draco wondered at the atmosphere of seeming irritation and his thoughts were affirmed when at one point, he coughed, and his father told him sharply to keep quiet. When they arrived home Draco began his way up the grand staircase to his rooms, hoping to have a bath before dinner. His father's voice rang after him in the stone silence. "Draco." His father never shouted, but his quiet, suppressed tone always demanded the most sincere attention. Draco turned around, a silent question in his eyes. "I want you in my study in ten minutes time, understood?" "Yes father." "Excellent." His father turned away, footsteps receding sharply in the echoing stillness. Puzzled, Draco made his way quickly to his rooms so he could change out of his robes before going to his father. What on earth could he want? There was nothing Draco could think of, nothing he'd done recently to possibly arouse his disappointment. So it was in complete confusion that Draco found himself outside his father's office ten minutes later. He knocked once and went right in. His father was seated at his desk and motioned for Draco to pull up a chair. Draco did so, and sat, waiting. His father cleared his throat. "Draco." Draco waited for him to go on. "I have some news that may come as a large shock to you at this time. There is a tradition in this family that has been going on since the Malfoy name began, but it is a tradition that you are up until this point, completely unfamiliar with. I don't want you to think that any of this is being done as a punishment towards you. Your behavior recently has been quite exemplary. Though your tests scores were a bit lower than we'd hoped…" "What?" Draco yelped. He was annoyed, and slightly hurt that his father would bring that up now, after the tough year he'd had. "You said that those were exemplary as well!" "Yes, yes I know, calm down. That isn't what I wanted to talk with you about. Don't get so upset." Draco slouched back in his chair and crossed his arms, regarding his father through narrowed eyes. He didn't like the way this conversation was going. He knew *everything* about Malfoy tradition, what could his father possibly be talking about? And why hadn't they told him? "It is a tradition for every Malfoy son to leave home for a while after he graduates and…" He paused, searching for a word, "Discover himself in the outside world." Leave home? Well of course he was to leave home, as soon as he decided what he wanted to do with his life. "The Malfoys are an outstanding line of wizards Draco and though we have quite a fortune we don't ever like to think we'd become dependant on that fortune. There are certain measures we must take to ensure these things. Are you following me Draco?" Draco glared at him. "Good. Now what will happen is this, you will pack your things tonight. Preferably not very much, in fact your mother and I decided it would be best for you to bring just the one suitcase, more for you to figure out on your own that way. Then tomorrow morning, we'll see you off at the door, and then of course… away you'll go." Draco wasn't sure he was hearing things correctly. They would 'seem him off' tomorrow morning? Where on earth to? He had everything he needed right here, thank you very much. "Draco, if I may, you ahh… seem a bit perplexed. What is it exactly that you don't understand?" Draco felt himself growing angry, and tried, without success, to curb the annoyance from his words. "What is it that I don't understand? What are you talking about, leaving me off with one suitcase tomorrow morning? I thought we were going to the chateau." "That is correct Draco, your mother and I are, leaving late tomorrow afternoon, for the sunny, golden shores of the Cote d'Azure," He smirked slightly to himself, a bit of his natural shade lifting for a moment, then drew his features back together with a grunt of disapproval, "but as I said, you will not be accompanying us." "WHAT?" "That's right, you'll be far away, on a train to London or some such metropolis. Haven't you heard a word I just told you Draco?" Draco was speechless with rage. He sat and gaped at his father, looking rather ridiculous with his chin hanging down to his knees. "Honestly Draco, close your mouth, it's quite unattractive. I understand there is an element of surprise in this whole business, but in the end it's all for your own good. We'll check up on you every six months or so, see that you have enough to eat and all that. It's just…" He trailed off with an agitated sigh, "We can't have you slouching around the house all summer. You need to take charge Draco and find out what it is to make a living for yourself, decide what it is you might like to do. Take life by the neck Draco and wring the hell out of it." Draco continued to stare in absolute disbelief. He found it quite impossible to find words to express himself. He stammered inanely for several moments, before forming actual coherent expressions, "B-b-but *you* never *did* anything. All *you* did was slouch around after Voldemort-" Draco scowled fiercely, his lips twisting with contempt. He should have known not to go for his father's sore spot, not so soon after the wound had closed. After the fall of the Dark Lord, his father had narrowly escaped imprisonment in Azkaban. Right before Voldemort's final, fatal operation his father had been called to duty, as he was nearly Voldemort's right hand man, second only to the cowering Wormtail. Unfortunately that weekend Lucius had thrown out his back playing broomstick polo with a few, old Hogwarts buddies and couldn't be moved from his bed. He was rendered useless as Voldemort's final plans uncoiled and for a long time he believed the fall of his beloved master to be his fault, which (in Draco's opinion) it clearly was. At first he'd shut himself up in his office and wouldn't talk to anybody, only called out for the trials that all the Death Eaters had to stand for. He'd actually wanted to be taken to Azkaban, as he'd believed bitterly, that he deserved a fate worse than death. Luckily, Narcissa interfered and held his tongue before he'd confessed all of Malfoy manor into financial ruin. The least thing she needed was to see a decline in her social life, due to her husband becoming a full time convict. Her bridge club ladies would not have thought terribly highly of her (disregarding the number of cashmere suits she owned) after that. Shortly after (which had been roughly after the end of Draco's sixth year) there had been a rather nasty period where Lucius felt he needed to vent his Titanian rage and tore through the house in a tempest of fury, throwing all the Ming vases and priceless pottery at the House Elves. Narcissa was in a fright because he'd shattered all her finest Venetian glass. So she sent him off to an intense therapist for hours of grueling physce-study. Next was the period Draco remembered to be the most disturbing. His father would come home after long hours, weepy and rather red round the edges. They'd try and sit down for a normal family dinner but when Draco asked, in as polite a voice as he could manage, for his father to pass the salt, Lucius's lip wobbled precariously for a moment, and then he erupted in a flood of unsightly and hysterical tears, banging his head on the polished mahogany table, and shouting rhetorical, slurred questions like, "Why? Why me? Why salt? Of all the bloody, unmanageable things to demand of me at a time like this, how could you possibly…" he dissolved away into incoherent sobs and Draco would draw his hand back sharply with fear and look questioningly at his mother who shook her head. He didn't even stop there. When Draco, for instance, tried quietly to slide from the table and go to his room after supper, his father's face would go purple and he'd stand up quite suddenly, knocking over his chair and shout, "It's me isn't it? I'm unbearable, that's it, isn't it? You can't stand to look at my face can you? Just can't bear the sight of your own father? How long have you been waiting to say it, hmm? Go on then, fine! Leave me, just sodding LEAVE!" There were many months after this filled with wadded up tissues and the sounds of self-pitying sniffs echoing through Malfoy manor, but by this time his father had returned, relatively to normal. He was trying to take up hobbies like cribbage and swing dancing, but he did much better off when he just swished around acting miserable and grim. This was one of those moments when Draco wondered if his father's brief flirtation with insanity was claiming a permanent role on his life. Unfortunately for Draco, his father was staring at him quite unflinchingly across a desk littered with papers, through eyes knitted with distaste. Draco continued his campaign of being speechless with rage. "If you haven't anything else to say then you may as well go and pack." Draco glowered at him crossly, eyes brimming with hatred, not quite ready to *really* let his far have it. "I said, young man, if we're quite finished here-" "Well we're not quite finished to tell you the truth!" Draco snapped, cutting him short. His anger had gotten the best of him and he could feel it tearing around inside him like a bludger that had been caged all summer vacation. "I can't believe you actually think you're serious with this thing. You're not just going to dump me off, like some broken broomstick! Not after all I've been through, all I've worked for. There is no way, absolutely no way. I know that you *think* this is some sort of Malfoy tradition, but it isn't! I would know." He was shouting now, quite loudly, and leaning forward unconsciously across his father's messy desk, "And if it is, then what the bloody hell is wrong with you people? I'm your sodding *son*, your only son for that matter. What do you expect, for me to just come crawling back after a couple of years and be fine with everything? 'Oh hey mum and dad, just wanted to pop in for some tea and a chat, you know since I haven't talked to you in a few years because I've been living in a broken down apartment with rats gnawing at my emaciated fingertips while I tried to play the accordion for sickles with my other fucking hand!'? I don't fucking think so!!" He'd gotten a bit hysterical at his point. He'd actually begun to pace, and he was waving his hands about, chest heaving with emotion, words getting tangled with urgency on the way to his throat. He wasn't sure at exactly what point his father had pulled out his wand and casually stunned Draco to a heap at his feet, but he remembered saying quite a lot of other things, involving twisted family rituals in manner of pagan sacrifices and insulting the Malfoy blood line quite vehemently, all insisting that the whole thing was contrived as a result of his father's madness, or his father's madness was a result of the inbreeding of the Malfoy family, or something to that effect. At any rate, he woke up, in what must have been several hours later, stretched sideways across his bed. It was dark outside now and Draco's head was ringing faintly. He sat up with painful deliberateness, anger still simmering in an undercurrent in his veins, his livid words stinging like bile in the back of his throat. It was hard to remember a time when he'd been more angry, the only competing moments being things involving Potter and his low-life friends. He got up and went to his door, jiggling the handle in vain. It was locked. He fumbled in his robe for his wand, and at finding nothing let out a cry of frustration and belted the door with disgust. Foot throbbing, he shuffled back to his bed and collapsed, face first into a mountain of feather pillows, feeling a broken sob well up in his chest. Why was life so sodding unfair? He felt tears burn beneath his eyelids but he blinked them back. He felt all of three years old. Rolling over he let out a quivery sigh and sniffed loudly. Technically he was a good deal younger than all his classmates. While the rest of them had turned eighteen sometime in the spring or the previous winter, he would be seventeen far into December of this year. His father of course, had enrolled him too early in wizard kindergarten and changed the age on his birth certificate to get him into Hogwarts as soon as possible. He wasn't going to have his son hovering around at home being useless when he could be out discovering great things. It all sounded oddly familiar. The only other person nearly as young as Draco that he knew of was Harry Potter whose birthday was in July, July 31st, so fairly late in the summer at that. Draco started, momentarily shocked that he knew that information. It bothered him so he shoved it to the back of his mind. It was easy to forget anyway since there was a knock that moment, at his door. Scowling, he turned and glared at the door. Didn't the idiot know that he couldn't get out anyway? He heard the click of a lock, and a little figure skittered around the slit in the door. It was Pixie, the House Elf. She dipped her head in a nervous bow, ears trembling as her eyes shot back and forth in a soundless expression of unease. Draco looked bored. "Yessss?" "M-m-m-master says, you, you need to pack for tomorrow morning straight aways. Because, b-b-because tomorrow you leave, very early. He isn't wanting you to be late and he isn't waiting for you neither." Draco frowned at her. "Well you can tell my father to-" He then proceeded to tell her something decidedly unpleasant involving a broomstick and various parts of his father's body and she darted out of the room yelping, with her hands over her ears. Her head popped round the door a moment later, shaking violently. "I – I- forgot, there is, there is a letter from the lady." Pixie slid a few cowering steps forward, and extended a hand, shuddering with apprehension. Draco snatched it from her and she squealed with alarm and ran, quite violently, into the door. A moment later, she picked herself up and went scurrying away. Draco shook his head with disgust, muttering, "Obnoxious little things…" When he grew up, he knew he would not employ House Elves at the manor, not because he believed it immoral to employ them, on the contrary he believed it gave them something to do with their miserable lives; only because he found them so irritating, and useless. He scanned the letter from his mother with disinterest. She didn't care about him very much, that much was obvious, but he did give her credit, for trying to amend the sometimes, glaring stupidity of his father. *Dear Draco,* it read, *I must apologize now for the irrational way in which this family often does things. Many of the so-called Malfoy traditions are completely inane and hold no well-founded or visible purpose.* In saying this, she meant things that did not increase either the family's wealth or social position. If something accomplished neither of these things, she was not interested. *This one tradition however, despite the absurdity of its appearance, does seem to hold a genuine purpose. In any event, your father will not be moved on this issue, and I do know for a fact it is not a result of his lingering bouts with lunacy.* Draco cursed silently, one of his last hopes, stamped out. *Please darling, try and accept it. It isn't really so bad as it all sounds. With luck, you'll be able to return to us in no time at all.* Draco knew in truth, she didn't give a skrewt's ass whether or not he was dead or alive. She would have traded him for a holder's account at Bergdorf's in five seconds flat, had not her's been terminated last march, because Lucius insisted it all to be 'muggle rubbish'. But the thought was touching no less, especially from a woman as hard-hearted as his mother. *Simply make the best of things and I look forward to the day of your return. Try not to become too common dear, sincerely and ever yours, Narcissa Malfoy* Draco wadded up the letter with latent disgust and tossed it onto his bed. Too bad the woman didn't care enough to actually go against his father on the issue. Or maybe she had tried. It was often hard to tell with her. Draco yawned languidly and gazed blearily round his room, feeling sleep beginning to haze over his eyeballs. He couldn't leave all this, not just at the drop of a hat, or (things being as they were) his father's sudden, manic urge to toss him out of the house. It was his and he wasn't going to be moved so easily. He was going to the south of France and that was that. Draco yawned again. He'd figure out exactly how, in the morning. For now, sleep was the best plan, and with that lingering thought, Draco curled sideways on top of his bed and drifted off to uneasy, yet dreamless sleep. ******************************************************************** Draco awoke the next morning to sunlight glaring into his eyes from the window by his bed and with the crumpled letter from his mother crushed into his left cheek. His eyelids flickered open and he found he was lying, quite uncomfortably actually, scrunched sideways against the end of his bed. He tried to unknot himself and knocked his elbow against the footboard rather painfully; he sat up with an ache in his neck and fell sideways onto the floor. He suddenly remembered, as he lay on the floor in a great amount of pain, that the previous evening his parents had kicked him out of his own home and with the sunlight now slicing truculently into his eyes and his shoe pressing into his back, he realized that life was nothing more than one enormous pile of shit. He stood up, with more effort than should have been necessary, and made his way across the room to examine himself in the mirror over his bureau. His eyes were clotted with sleep and he dug his knuckles furiously against his lids in an attempt to remove the look of groggy indifference that clouded the faded blue retinas. His cheek had an ugly red indentation from the crumpled piece of paper compressed into his skin and he scowled at himself with indignation, passing a hand through his tangled golden locks, struggling to remember exactly his brilliant plan of escape that he'd formulated the previous evening. His brow creased in a moment of troubled concern. Then realization broke. Oh, that's right. He hadn't. Things were looking indescribably bleak. But Draco wasn't one to surrender himself without a fight. Oh no, if his father insisted on him going down, then Lucius Malfoy was going down with him. All the passion of last night's fit of burning anger had softened to a gentle tide of annoyance that rose and fell in his brain. But the anger was still there, engrained into his subconscious- a feeling of violation, of quiet outrage and abuse, an emotion of simple incredulity that his father would dare such a thing. He crossed over to his window and let his casual glance fall down to the carpet of grass that stretched away into the verdant emeralds of the hills of Malfoy manor. He thought for a moment of escaping from his window. Until two thoughts struck him. One, his window was about five hundred or so feet above the ground and his broomstick was locked away on the opposite end of the house in his Quidditch room, and secondly, the fact that the entire point of this operation was to *keep* him at home, not run away from it. Draco frowned in soundless agitation and bit his lip, mind wavering with concentration. Then suddenly, amid the turbulent clamor of other, far less important thoughts (such as his stomach calling loudly for something to keep it occupied and his neck whining irritably over its twisted state) an idea blossomed. He would pretend to go along with his father's stupid plan. He would pack a suitcase and wait for his father to escort him, condescendingly to the door, and then as he feigned sorrow and waved goodbye in mock despondency he would simply *not go*. The minute he was out of his parent's sight, he would turn right around and come directly back. At that point his father would have given him his wand back and he could use it to do a number of things to get him back into the house. Draco smiled to himself at the brilliant simplicity of it all. He would just keep on coming back until his parents were worn out by the whole thing. Or if that didn't work, all he had to do was access his account at Gringotts, take out some money and get to France on his own. If his parent's didn't want him there, so be it. He was willing to do things independently if that's the way things had to be. The darkness of his earlier mood was spiraling away into clouds of golden dust, and he was grinning all the way into the bathroom and through his shower, as he washed his hair and got dressed into his favorite sapphire robes, all the while humming a little tune. He paused for a moment when it came to packing the suitcase; it wasn't as if he had to spend any time packing, but he needed it to look realistic enough to convince his parents he was actually leaving. So he threw in a couple pairs of socks and a few, heavier books on dull things he'd gotten as gifts for his previous birthday from unknown relatives (whose lack of knowledge of his interests resulted in the idiocy of their topics), such as- Transfiguration and the Art of Embroidered Couch Cushions and Potions, Pesticides and You. He topped it all off with a few satchels of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, only because he always had those lying around in excess and they gave the whole thing a rather nice, lumpy, bulging look that quite suited the appearance of him packing his most prized possession into a single suitcase. With a contented little sigh he lugged the thing off his bed and prepared to wait. It had only been, maybe five minutes or so when he heard the sound of the lock click in his door and it swung wide to reveal his father, in usual, menacing robes all in black glancing at him with a look of composed agitation. "All ready then?" Draco nodded solemnly, deciding he didn't want to seem *too* eager to go capering off on his own, especially after his rather er… emotional outcry last night. He followed his father all the way down to the front hall, where his mother was waiting, looking dreadfully bored and tense all at the same time; something she managed to accomplish most of the time without too much difficulty (adding to the numerous family traits which Draco felt he'd never understand). There was a rather awkward pause as Draco stopped, directly in front of the door, both hands on the suitcase in front of him. Lucius coughed. "Well…" Draco began in a loud voice, "I suppose this is the part where you kick me out." Lucius frowned. Oops. Perhaps that was a bit too blatant. Narcissa threw Lucius an agitated look, glaring pointedly towards her diamond studded watch. "Well Draco, I'm afraid we're going to have to make this brief, Narcissa and I have an important luncheon today with...your uh, well with your mother's … important friends." Draco snorted. It was so typical of them. You really think it would reach the point where they didn't have to pretend to try anymore. They were so spectacularly obvious it became painful to watch. Why not simply take Draco up to the tallest tower of Malfoy manor and simply fling him off the edge. At least that might be more entertaining. Draco squeezed his face into what he hoped was a poignant and melancholy smile, and extended a hand. "Goodbye mother. I shall write. That is, if I can afford pen and ink in the first few months. I may have to starve for several days in order to save up for muggle post, but it will come. And of course during the winter months, my little garret may not be warm enough to coax my frozen fingers into holding a quill, but I shall earnestly try." Narcissa sniffed irritably, "Oh Draco, you're always so melodramatic." She leaned forward and kissed him thinly on the cheek. Draco turned to his father, and gave a sharp nod. "Goodbye then. Don't play too much cribbage while I'm away. Try not to forget me too quickly. I'd prefer if you waited several years before converting my room into a pool hall, you see it's just the thought that bothers me so." His father regarded him severely, "I sincerely hope Draco that this is not simply one big joke to you. There is much that will come out of this of great importance. Regard this day my boy, as the day you step into the golden light of the future." Lucius placed a fatherly hand on Draco's shoulder at the cued line of 'my boy' and turned him towards the window, as if pointing him directly toward that heavenly glow. "I'll uh… do my best." Another pointedly awkward moment ensued until Draco cleared his throat rather loudly and his father pulled quickly away. "Well, so long!" Draco shifted the suitcase into one hand with tremendous difficulty and reached, straining, for the door, marveling at the acute helpfulness of his two loving parents. Somehow, he heaved the thing open and with one last contrived smile he tottered down the marble expanse of stone steps to the gravel circle below. He was just formulating a plan, somewhere along the lines of walking maybe a mile or so down the extensive Malfoy drive, then turning back to arrive in time for lunch, when a carriage pulled up at the bottom of the steps. Draco glanced quizzically at it, then turned back quickly towards the house. His father was coming hurriedly down the steps. "Come on then, load it all up quickly." The driver (not the usual old Mr. Harris Draco noted, but someone far younger and surlier looking) was tossing his one lone suitcase onto the top of the carriage. Draco was confused. This had not been a part of the plan. "Uh… father?" He began somewhat timorously, "I really don't *need* this carriage. You see, I was actually planning on walking, so um…" "Don't be ridiculous Draco," his father snapped, completely having switched into his I'm-far-too-busy-and-important-to-make-eye-contact-with-you-right-now mode. "You'll be going all the way into the city and then catching a train there, you couldn't possibly walk all the way." "Ahh, yes." Draco let out a tremor of weak laughter, "I uh… quite forgot." Damn his father and his condescending manner. No matter how used to it he was, Draco could never fail to feel diminished intellectually to the size of a cockroach by it's force; a squashed one at that. "All right Draco, in you go." Draco's eyes darted to the outside of the door the burly man had swung open; he suddenly noticed with a nervous lump in his throat that on the door was a series of rather large and austere looking locks. "Actually," Draco took an anxious step backward, "Actually, I'm beginning to sort of reconsider this whole thing." "Draco…" "I mean really-" He stammered on inanely. "Really, this whole thing just doesn't seem right for me at this point in my life, I feel that I could really benefit from-" "Draco!" Lucius was beginning to go very white, and his fists clenched compulsively at his sides. The large man took a menacing step towards Draco, swarthy knuckles cracking loudly. "I'm sure, if you uh… just ask Rocky here," Draco flitted two steps backward, gesturing to the brawny man "He can tell you that you're not quite ready to send me away yourself. In fact you're doing this because you-" "DRACO!" It was at that moment that Draco decided to go for the most desperate plan of action, the last resort plan of all last resorts- Plan C. Faking a dash at his father, he turned very quickly to the large pro-wrestler/carriage driver who swung at him with his leaden fist. Draco made a well-calculated duck and tried to spin away to the left. The boxer however, made a lunge at him and caught Draco around the middle knocking them both to the ground. Clawing blindly, then deciding teeth were much more effective, Draco chomped fiercely one of the man's swollen arms. The giant loosened his grip with a yelp and Draco staggered breathlessly to his feet, attempting now to weave strategically back towards the house. His fattened foe however had other plans in mind and made a vicious grab for Draco's wrist. With a cry of pain, Draco almost went down, but then came his moment of immortal glory- sweat streaming into his eyes and dust ground on his cheeks, he twisted suddenly sideways and kicked the creature sharply between the legs. The man let out a horrified gasp and went down like a wounded hippopotamus. Really a glorious sight to see, but Draco couldn't stay and admire his work. He darted up the stairs at break-neck speed, pulse singing with electricity in response to the tantalizing proximity of freedom. He had just slid in on to the polished stones of the grand entrance, and was about to skid over to the staircase when Lucius swung round the door and hit him with a spell right between the eyes. The last thing Draco felt before the world around him rotted away into blackness was the crush of inequitable, heartbreaking defeat. I mean honestly, he had to ask himself as the objects around him began to slip away, what would you have done without a wand? *************** Hope you enjoyed it darlings, much more to come as always. Do review. luv, annika 


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